Love's Letters
by Nasyki
Summary: Slash.DMHP.Chap2up.Its a new day and Harrys back with the Dursleys for the summer.But something new has happened to make his last time there,almost enjoyable:a secret admirer has written to Harry,an is the only thing that is keeping him going.sum inside.
1. Home Goings

**Nasyki/Dark Cherub:** Sorry…I know I should be updating some of my other fics…but this one was just sitting there, begging me to finish the chapter! Really, it was! I promise and hope to die if I don't—I'll update my others too. Now then, let me not waste time you could be reading, I'll make this short. Read! Review! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Do I own Harry Potter or it's characters? No! No suing, I have no money and come on! I don't need to owe people money before I can drive.

**Warnings:** Not many, but I might as well make note on them. Yaoi…or ya slash, DM/HP just so you know…lots of angst…dark depression…then not depressions too…and maybe some violence…but a little violence never hurt anyone…actually it's good for the heart! Er…mind? Or something like that!

**Summary:** Slash. DMHP. It's finally time to go home for the summer after a long and dreadful 6th year. After a large amount of deaths, injuries, and accusations directed towards Harry…he and his friends are ready to go 'home.' An argument and a good beating later, his life goes back to its normal pace, or as normal as it is for a wizard on Private Drive. That is however, only what he thinks before he receives a strange love letter by owl. Who exactly is this D.B, and what makes him so special? Who is he really? Harry has a little voice in his head telling him D.B is hiding something, but it is also telling him he can trust the admirer. What happens when a relationship blossoms from a love note, and Voldemort tries another angle at killing Harry? Rated for well…everything that's coming up, sex, abuse, rape in chapter two. A touch of dark and I'll through in some OC's!

((No relationships will come out of OC's))

_**Note**: This fic was started before the 6th book came out, and though it does happen 7th year…6th year is how I made it. You'll get more detail what happened during that time in later chapters. >>>So **pre-HBP**_

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Love's Letters**

By: Nasyki/Dark Cherub

Chapter 1 (_Home Goings_)

**Scene One of Three:** _Good Byes_

It was coming, and oh how he was dreading it. It was in the wind so to speak, as well as on the tip his tongue; its bitter taste coating his mouth in sheets leaving his throat dry and raw. The day had arrived as another: unwanted, vile, distasteful, resentful, and all to long a summer. It was just ahead of him and it wasn't going to be prevented. It wasn't going to be like last year where the Order had threatened his family.

It would be insane just to hope they would come. After all, the dead surely don't wake, let alone save petty teens from their abusive families.

This time he was to be left alone with the Dursleys.

There was not even the simple allotment of optimism that he could be saved by his friends halfway thought the break, they were prevented from doing that even if they wanted to.

Though he couldn't understand his own whining, he should've been used to fending for him self by now. Even so, it left that repulsive taste in his mouth just 'knowing' what to expect. He knew, of course, long before the Dursleys came into view what his summer would be like. Best case scenario —what he hoped would happed— his family would merely lock him in his room and allow him the fortune of not having to see their faces and put up with their personalities all summer.

Luck being on his side, this was the _last_ time that he'd have to put up with things as they were with the Dursleys. Then after that he would never be forced to put up with any form of them again. That is all that he really wanted: to be rid of them forever.

This train of thought normally would have had a dramatic affect on his sour mood, the thought of being a legal adult in the wizarding world had always done so in the past, but if only he hadn't been so damned depressed. Depression certainly seemed to have a way in making a person's life less worthwhile.

Harry heaved a sigh, it was sad that even that simple wish had been compromised. Instead of him getting to leave the day of his birthday —when the blood-binding spell would be completed— like he had been told previously, Dumbledore had requested he spend the entirety of the term of the break at his **home**.

Knowing that Dumbledore was simply trying to protect him as best he could, Harry couldn't bring himself to argue with the man. Even if he could not agree with the method of keeping him out of harm's way helpful, he found it much harder to disobey the thoughtful orders. Though it pained him to do as told, Harry had no will to fight the man who had done so much for him, and who had constantly looked out for his well-being in any way he could. Though these days he could feel the smallest amount of doubt slipping into his subconscious…a small voice within him kept telling him that Dumbledore was not looking solely out for him, that he had the entire wizarding race at heart.

The thought pained him as much as knowing that his people saw him not as an individual, but as an idol that gave them someone to look up to. He was just a thing that shifted their attention away from their own insignificant lives. He found himself to be somewhat of a toy that could just as easily be reused as thrown away. When this idea began to betray his trust, all Harry could do was push the thought away and hope that it wouldn't resurface. Yet the thought was always there, plaguing him and making him feel vile for distrusting the people that cared so much about him…that is to say…the only people that cared for him.

When the Dursleys appeared in the crowd (not all that hard to miss) his oh so bright mood darkened into the depths of what one might considerer under the deepest part of the ocean's waves. He looked to his friends out of the corner of his eye longingly. Attempting to bring them with him so to speak, at least bring as much as he could of them. But they're normally 'all smiles' faces even held a type of grief knowing almost the same as he, how his summers of hell went. Though for the better good they knew simply the gist of it. Yet, hate to admit it all he liked, the silently nudging voice urged him that there was the present possibility they were all caught up in the mourning of their own losses and they in turn didn't give a damn about him."Don't worry Harry…" his bushy burnet haired friend smiled half-heartedly at his lifeless expression in seeing the arrival of his family; though his expression did seem to turn others half hearted without the added bonus of his family. "Ron and I will be sure to write to you daily."

At this promise, Harry nodded childishly knowing full well the 'what's' and 'whatnot's' to expect from his friends. He would most likely receive an owl here and there, and one on his birthday if he were ever so lucky. But _lucky_ was something he seemed to have recently run out of…unless you count his sarcastic ones anyhow. Dumbledore had made sure to take each of his friends aside and tell them to keep minimal contact with him: Voldemort the cause of this, of course. Everyone was going to keep the closest eye on him, but not interact. _Why_, he did not know, but he did have a couple pretty good suspicions what these 'extra precautions' were for. He knew it for none other than his friend's safety. After what had happened last year to anyone whom talked to him alone…he was pretty sure that no one wanted to be left in the same room as him even if in the end he'd been proven innocent; it wasn't he whom had cast the spells on his friends.

What had come about from there precautions was simple they —as in everyone and anyone left of the order combined with the Ministry— decided to give him information of things only in utmost importance. Also, he wasn't allowed to stay at the Weasleys. The Ministry of Magic was now on a lock down and he needed to be at home, with the only thing left of his family. Again, he would not have complied had he not been asked upon on personal request of Dumbledore.

His Uncle was fast approaching. Harry looked at the plump purpling face of his Uncle. His Uncle had not even seen him yet and was already aggravated. He knew he'd have to make this a quick goodbye.

He didn't bother turning around. "Well…I'll see you guys later," his voice was fleeting and in a broken whisper.

At his morose voice Ron turned to hide his sadness. He'd been doing so since Harry began acting this way, he fiddled with the times for a moment. Supposing on these depressed tendencies, he would guess had begun, though a minimal at first, on the occasions after Sirius's death. But that had only been the beginning of this change in person. Since that first death…all that had followed…Ron's father one of the more recent. Guilt found means for resurfacing; it was Harry's fault for that death.

That was one of the major reasons that Harry couldn't stay with the Weasleys. Not because Harry had gotten the older Wesley killed, simply because of the absence of Author Weasley in general. With him there was a connection between the Order, Harry, and the Ministry. Over the course of last year many colorful battles had transpired between the Order and the Ministry, battles not only pertaining to the war against Voldemort. No sir. The Ministry was much too childish for that; something relevant wouldn't have made sense in their minds. Instead it had been a petty feud over the control over the Boy-Who-Lived. The Ministry was trying to look for a scapegoat for their earlier errors, so instead of concentrating on the task at hand they had tried to cover their lazy arses. They were also trying to shift all the weight upon his shoulders to make it look like it was The-Boy-Who-Lived's fault that Voldemort had come back, and that it was only because of him that Voldemort wasn't defeated yet: because no one could destroy the Dark Lord but Harry Potter himself. Harry had scoffed at the likeness of the story, and had immediately begun to wonder if someone was leaking information about his side. He was surprised when nothing about the Prophecy came up. That implied that they didn't know, and that the story was most likely concocted but several people that were raving mad…though right as they were.

When Harry looked to everyone else's faces and saw the expression that mirrored on them he could easily depict the look on Ron's, the identical look that held sympathy and something akin to pity.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione finally broke and wailed desperately. She pulled him into her out-stretched arms, causing him to visibly flinch. No one had touched him nearly all of last year, and he wasn't used to physical contact anymore. Not that he ever really had been. "It'll be okay. I swear it will all be all right," she whispered supportively into his ear before pulling back so that their noses were touching. Looking directly into his eyes she continued, "Remember to keep inside and be especially careful. Death Eaters are everywhere these days, we can't afford to lose you." That doubt returned nagging him, he couldn't read if her last comment was directed at losing him as a friend, or the savior. He had now completely lost the definition between the two. Pulling back, finally not able to handle her squeeze he looked into her watering eyes and watched as she brushed away the forming tears before they had had the chance of falling. Feeling a sudden need to comfort her he sighed, he'd wanted to remember her smiling face.

"Hermione…please don't worry about me. It'll only be for the summer…" was all that he murmured. He tried to make it sound almost jokingly but judging by her cracking expression, he knew he'd failed. Hesitantly, he ran a shaky hand through his tangled locks. His trembling hand seemed to be the physical form of his voice. His voice was just as shaky and unsure as his hand, but the fact didn't help that he didn't even know whom he was trying to reassure here.

Harry nodded to her again before turning to his redheaded friend's turned back. Ron was never good with this sort of thing it seemed, not that he was either. Because Harry wasn't able to stay for the summer at the Burro or even a fraction of the summer, Ron with the loss of his father so fresh had hurt him the most, Ron had hoped to forget about his loss through the use of distracting the pain with Harry all summer. At least he wasn't the only person that began to compromise his wishes.

Silently walking to his friend Harry wrapped his arms around the taller boy's neck, it seemed that Ron might never stop growing, allowing his head to droop forward and rest on Ron's back in between his shoulder blades.

"Ron…come on," he urged nuzzling his forehead forward. "Cheer up…please? You can brood over this after it's done and over with. But for now…enjoy your summer," he ordered, knowing his words to have no effect on the boy whom had seemingly gone mute towards him. Hermione seemed to be the only one able to do the whole comforting thing right…but that just might be because she was girl —sentimentalities and such.

"Harry!" Came the firm and demanding voice of his Uncle Vernon. Pulling back, he turned and walked towards the scowling group of relatives. He didn't once turn back to glance at the tearful faces but he followed steadfastly the muggles to his doom.

Getting into the car no one spoke a word. And yet there was still a thickness to the air. The kind created when someone says something insufferable though the words fade the uncomfortable and unsettling silence is left in its wake. No words having been spoken the only other cause there could be was the hatred of one to another.

**Scene Two of Three:**_ A Beating_

The car trip to Privet Drive hadn't been a pleasurable one, though it had been better than some he could remember; Harry was just relieved when the car stopped and the passengers unloaded towards the house, the silence had begun to eat away at him. Walking at a rushed pace, the moment after his Uncle unlocked the front door he had hurried into the house, he was so eager to get away that he stepped up the stairs two at a time. Only did he stop when hearing his Uncles booming voice from the down-stairs.

"Boy!" Vernon's thick voice rumbled, lacing itself with the pure essence of his hatred for Harry.

Shivering involuntarily, Harry turned heel and headed away from the sanctity he had learned to embrace from the room that had been steeps ahead of him. Silently lowering himself from the upper floor he stopped at the larger man's feet, all but batting an eye at his attempt to be frightening. There were more important things to fear in the world at the present time and day for the golden boy, he wasn't about to waste his fear for a man with nothing other than physical strength.

Nodding he responded calmly he spoke clearly, "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"Let me make myself perfectly clear before we start this summer." Harry fought a scowl that sounded promising. "There are going to be some major changes around here. I will not tolerate a young **boy** running my household in fear of his adult friends." Harry nodded feeling a sudden dread at what had happened to most of his 'adult friends' by trying to help him, but he didn't voice his pain.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," was all he answered not lowering his head, yet submerging his voice in a pride that he had begun to except of himself in being the 'boy-who-lived.'

Glaring at what he would classify as arrogance, the purpling face continued, "So we are now limiting your access in this house. I don't want any of the neighbors even knowing you're here again. So from now on, you're restricted to doing yard work at night—"

Harry interrupted in abruptness, "—there is no way Professor Dumbledore will allow this. With Voldemort on the lose now, the Ministry of Magic would have your heads for allowing their savior to be captured." His voice was steady and cold, and he merely spoke fact having tried to be _informative_, though he could have added 'spitefulness' right next to that without denying it to be fact. A second later he knew that not to be the best choice being as in those two sentences he had mentioned a lot more of his magical life than he had dared to imply before, thus further provoking the blossoming wrath of his Uncle.

The face of man half human have radish glared with little slits as his upper lip and mustache trembled. "How DARE you bring up such things under my roof! I've taken you in after all these years when your good for nothing parents got themselves killed, and you mention you little fairy-tale world after I've been supplying all you need for years asking for you only to follow a few rules! Do you have no manners at all you abandoned bastard child! That right there will give you a week in your room with no dinner!" His relentlessness and sheer cruelties spoke wonders for him. The dread returned to the pit of Harry's stomach, but his uncontrolled rage did as well. He did his best to bite back an outburst by grinding his teeth together in his mouth as Vernon's face was reaching an unfathomable shade of purple, a color Harry had yet to see.

"But before I proceed with that, let me continue!" He bellowed loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

'And he made comments about my drawing attention,' Harry thought in utter spite and contempt.

As though he and his Aunt were on the same wavelength, she quickly shut the door that Dudley had so rudely left opened for someone else to close (probably for his mother anyway) before she appeared at Vernon's side.

"Vernon, dear…calm down. You will not only cause the neighbors to start talking about us, but just think of what this might do to your already high blood pressure! You will have worse problems with it! Think, is that really what you want?" his Aunt Petunia hissed into Vernon's ear a little louder than necessary.

Harry had to snort at this. '–High blood pressure? No wonder he changes color like a chameleon when he's angry!' and a second later he received a dirty look from Dudley but he tried to stay concentrated on his Uncle for that moment.

"Uncle Vernon…could you continue if it isn't too much trouble?" Harry sighed as he watched his Uncle take deep calming breathes, he had become quite good at concealing his feelings learning from the Malfoy's best, Draco. Surprising what years of exposure to infuriating situations where the person who gets more upset and does something drastic loses, does to a person. Personally he liked Draco a whole lot more than his Uncle. The only things Vernon had taught him were 'hot' and 'temper.' He smiled, maybe 'high' and 'blood-pressure' too, at least Malfoy had taught him control over what Vernon had done to him. Harry couldn't help but thank the nemesis in his mind thoughtfully. 'Next time I see him I'll have to make some comment on a 'thank you,' that should confuse the hell out of him.' Smiling smugly to himself he willed his ears to listen to his Uncle's droning commands.

Glaring daggers the man continued, "you **will** be doing the yard work at night, no questions asked…" he repeated emphasizing the 'will' to make his points clear. "You **will** wake up regular hours, and you **will** make breakfasts. You **will** continue with your daily chores. But you _**will not**_ be spotted by outsiders at any time." His face was regaining its normal coloring but he remained stern-faced. "Is that understood, Harry?" He was sure to pronounce Harry's name like it was an unspeakable, making the already well-known fact that he didn't like him even more so overwhelmingly obvious.

Harry nodded, "yes Uncle Vernon…I have one question though." Though he didn't know why he'd bother asking, seeing as he wasn't supposed to ask questions, _ever_. He sighed; he'd probably just get beat for it so it didn't matter.

His Uncle glared, thought for a second and then nodded. 'He seems to have forgotten that rule, what luck.' Harry almost smiled. His thoughts continued, 'Maybe I could ask him a question like _If Death Eaters come to kill me late at night do you want me to tell them that you're in the house and sitting ducks, or want them to find out on their own?_' Harry quickly discarded the idea not wanting to ask for his own demise. Seemed a little too suicidal for his taste.

"What about Hedwig? If you were to lock me in my room, that would mean I would need more food to take care of her with." This question, though not what his Uncle had expected, had had a deep impression on the middle-aged man, and by chance it was not for the better, Harry knew it was a useless attempt but he tried to manipulate the situation however he could. "Um…it's not like she needs very much food, I'm sure she'd be happy with like a piece of bread, but you could always let me order some snacks for her…" Harry winced as the words rushed out of his mouth that was probably the least convincing you could get without being just plain stupid; he really needed to work on his manipulating skills.

Vernon's large plump face had regained every line and crease, etching it in anger. Slowly his face darkened to a light hint of pink, to a dusty red, before it then slowly turned nearly a glowing red, and last that wonderful shade of a ripening plum. By the looks of it, the man was ready to split at his seams and release his full-blown anger attack on Harry, who would not like it when it came.

His Uncle, who was normally so full of words was at the moment speechless in his blind rage, he steeped right into Harry's face, and in a low crackling voice ragged out a small reply, "Your pet, I'm sure, can last a week in the outside world while you are forced into your solitary confinement. And if not, it would be doing the world a favor if it were not to survive." Harry merely nodded feeling his own unsettling rage build up inside of him, you could practically feel his eagerness to strangle the man: he would not trust his voice nor would he let the comment get to him if he could stop it. "Dudley." Uncle Vernon ordered, making sure not to break eye contact with Harry. "Go get Harry's stuff from the car. And be sure to see that his little birdie is freed before you enter the house." Seeing his cousin nod out of the corner of his eye, with a stupid smirk on his face he turned to leave.

"No." Harry stated firmly through gritted teeth, barely managing to suppress his anger. "Don't let that filthy git touch Hedwig."

By this time the room had gone silent in shock, Dudley actually stopped mid-steep and came tumbling to the floor. He whirled around to see what would happen next; but before he had even attempted to turn he heard an ear splitting slap followed by Harry's 'oof' as he fell to the floor, the pain of the strike shooting through his cheek like a glove of needles had slapped him rather than a fat man's hand. Vernon slipped his hand tightly around the collar of the recovering boy's shirt and yanked him to his feet.

"You will not talk about my son like that again…ever. I don't like you or your kind, so don't give me more reason to hate you," Vernon seethed.

Before Harry could respond, his Uncle successfully took his knee to Harry's gut and his pain-inflicting blow was reworded by a gasp and whimper. The cry elicited a menacing grin from his Uncle, and the next thing Harry knew he was hit by an attack of spontaneous blows. Hitting where he could reach, kicking when he couldn't, Uncle Vernon all his adrenalin pumped actions seemed to be fueled by Harry's whimpers of pain. After another ten or so effective hits he let the boy fall to the floor blood leaking from his nose before Vernon proceeded to kick any part of Harry that his foot could come in contact with.

Through his blurry vision Harry attempted to crawl away from his now insane Uncle only to be stopped by the continuous blows. Finally he decided to give in, and curled himself into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut as pain showered over him. Never once did he let a tear slip down his bruised and battered face as the beating overtook him. This reason could have been because he chose not to lower himself to give his Uncle such satisfaction of doing so, or possibly because his body was to busy concentrating on the pain of the attack to remember to cry. It might have even been a mix of the two, but that wasn't the thoughts that plagued the mind of Harry Potter the 'boy-who-lived' as he was being beat senseless. The only thought that was complete enough to understand was, 'so this is how the golden boy will die. Not heroically saving the wizarding world form Lord Voldemort…but cowering in a corner as his Uncle beats him to death.'

Harry took in a sharp breath as he felt something in his chest crack. He could feel his vision fading…but something kept him from blacking out, though no difference did it make. He'd just suffocate from the burning that contracted inside of him eating away at the pain before he had even had the chance of doing so and being saved by that ragging blackness.

A hand yanked him up again and his face was met by his Uncle's, glossed with sweat. "D-don't you ever…ever say something about my son like that again. Ever again! Do you understand me?" he repeated in 'huff' and looked into Harry's eyes like a manic.

Harry whimpered and merely nodded. He couldn't find his voice. Hell, he couldn't find his body. Vernon drooped him to the ground and Harry wheezed as his protruding rib made contact with the floor. He hadn't even known it was sticking out. Maybe it wasn't though. He could feel the painful unawareness over his body, it could have been that the bone was pressing in and not out. Not like it made a world of difference. As it was now, it was useless. 'Just like I am,' Harry thought remembering all that he could have done better, guilt of his friend's death resurfaced.

"Dudley, get Harry's stuff, and get rid of that damned bird!"

Harry eventually closed his eyes as Uncle Vernon could be heard storming from the room and after he left, the unearthly quiet was demoralizing. There was a long nothingness in which Harry attempted to regulate his breathing back to a normal state and as the shock of what his Uncle had done seemed to ware off the family like a day dream he listened to the departing foot steeps. There was the faint opening of a front door, and a rush into the house somewhere.

He couldn't feel his body. Surely he had been paralyzed or something! Yes, he could feel the pain; the pounding in his head wouldn't let him forget it. But what does it mean for a person to try to move: to get up, to do anything, but there not seem to be a body extension past your sights. If he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it, did that mean it wasn't there?

Harry hissed as something soft and wet touched him. 'Well, at least I could feel that.' Opening his eyes his saw his Aunt Petunia looking surly down at him as she dabbed at his bloody face murmuring something like, "blood all over the place! Next time I'll tell Vernon to go elsewhere…"

After she seemed to make sure he was devoid of all blood to not get everywhere she stood and glared at him. "Take a shower, I don't want you messing up the house, and then go straight to your room."Harry groaned and slugged up as she went away, not getting halfway before falling back down. "Arg…" at second impact of the hard ground he cringed closing his eyes again. He couldn't get up. How was he going to get up?

The front door opened again and Harry watched as his rounded cousin, who must have snuck away from his diet waltzed into the room, a trunk and empty cage following in his wake. 'Hedwig!' He screamed into his tormented mind. 'I'll kill Dudley if anything happened to my snowy owl. I swear my life on it.'

Harry willed his tired mind into a light, unsettling sleep.

**Scene Three Of Three:**_ Resourceful_

When next his consciousness stirred he knew something was out of place. An unwelcoming taste of iron saltiness stained his taste buds; one thing that he wasn't used to waking up with. Also, there was a solidness to the bed where he was sleeping, 'surely Hogwarts hadn't that hard of a bed in the place. Hell the Dursleys beds were s-'

That's when Harry remembered.

His eyes shot opened and in a split instant he was sitting, but before the next competent thought even had time to register in his head he was crumbling over in pain. _That_ wasn't normal.

Harry howled out as the pain took to strangling him to a point that his head was pounding with rushing blood. Relentless aches were all he could think about as he instinctively held his stomach to doubled-over. His true demise, for whence his tight grip latched itself about his crippled chest his agony increased ten fold, overloading him with such feelings, as he didn't want to experience.

Quickly he dropped his grip, and tried to lie straight on his back, leaving him with only his eyes and fists and jaw to clench tightly to get him through the pain. Staggered breaths was all that broke into the room and once he had time to compose himself, without the risk of an ear-splitting scream he lifted a shaky hand and rested it on his forehead. Opening his eyes for the first real time, ready to take in his surroundings he had to blink several times before the blur of his vision cleared.

He groaned as he noted he was still at the Dursleys, exactly where he had been beaten. 'It was not just a dream,' he confirmed.

Looking around so as to find some sort of clue as to how long it had been. He looked up to see the sunlight streaming into the front room window a few yards from him. 'So it is still day.' He thought and took a deep breath, he rolled over holding his breath to stop another threatening scream as he positioned his hands at both his sides, looking like someone ready to do muggle push-ups. Gritting his teeth together to keep sound from erupting from his throat he pushed up and gasped, he only got a few inches from the ground before he had to stop and slowly lower himself down again. This wasn't going to be as easy as he had hoped.

'If I can just get to my trunk…' Harry thought despairingly, though he would never admit it to be desperate to himself.

Harry pushed up another couple inches, and almost felt his limbs give out. Pressuring himself to finish getting up he did not allow himself to stop.

After a long while of lost time's struggle he managed to stand up, head spinning ambiguously. He stumbled forward and tripped on nothing causing him to slam into a wall. Wincing he continued forward to the closet beneath the stairs. If he could get there he would be fine. He had already pre-made several pain reliever, and healing potions. After having no friends for nearly an entire year he had managed to study forcefully hard, he had even requested…private lessons with Professor Snape to learn the more complicated potions, such as healing being the most frequent request with help. Professor Snape had immediately given him a strange look but had complied anyway with some persuading with a good three other teachers as well as his dear headmaster.

Harry took several more steeps forward, running along the wall for support. He needed a few more steeps before he was there…'just a couple more steeps,' he kept telling himself knowing he had to keep his mind clear.

Harry panted, as his world seemed to spin in circles around him. He took another steep forward. —If he could just get to the cupboard…to his trunk…his potions…. His vision was already ill defined as he fell against the door, forcing him to acquire sharp intakes of breath. Covering his mouth his tired eyes resting, he coughed a useless attempt at forcing a liquid that seemed to be pouring into his lungs out.

As he sat there catching his breath, and trying to keep him self from passing out, a thought struck him, 'they had probably locked the door.'

If the pain of the attack that Uncle Vernon had lashed out on him had subsided, he more than likely would have been able to feel the dread for what that would entail roll over him in rising tides. But instead of trying to think of what more pain he could have, he hoped beyond hope that the door wouldn't be locked. He was so caught up in his doomed thoughts that he didn't even register the 'click' of the lock on the door.

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for his unfathomably unfortunate luck, he reached up for the doorknob, and was surprised when it turned. Quickly, or as quickly as he could muster with at least one broken rib and so many other injuries he couldn't identify he scooted away from the door and then through it.

"Yes…" He smiled as he crawled his way towards his trunk and opened it. There was all of his Hogwarts things laid out perfectly. "Thank Merlin…" he mumbled as he noted none of the vials of his potions had broken.

Reaching for a deep green liquid, he popped the cork on it and took a large gulp before setting it back once it was recapped. After his sip, a stinging sensation coursed through his body causing him to shiver slightly. He hadn't been expecting it really. But as soon as another drowsy spell came over him, he knew that he'd have to get upstairs before it overtook him.

Sighing, he shut his trunk, got to his feet with the only difficulty being his vision hadn't recovered, and shut the door. Now the only clouded thoughts of his mind were to get to his room before he passed out from the aftereffects of the potion.

Using the wall as his supporter, he made his way up the stairs to his room; he opened the door in a rush to his bed. Just as he was about to let the potion take hold of him and allow him self to drop to the bed, he ruefully noted a slight rapping at his window. Looking over with shock he rushed to the window swinging it opened.

'Why do I have to be bothered now?' He wondered as a midnight colored owl flew in and settled down on his shoulder.

Because it wasn't the normal barn owls that the Ministry used, and it wasn't an owl that he recognized as belonging to one of his friends, he tried to fight the tiredness that was knocking at his door, to yield to his undying curiosities and find out who it was that sent it. He took the envelope the bird was carrying and sat down on his bed, the black owl flapped its large expanded wings to keep its balance on his shoulder.

Harry blinked to clear his miasma, and looked at the curled letters that read across the envelope, addressing it to him.

"Harry Potter"

'Descriptive,' he thought sarcastically comparing it to those of the letters he received from Hogwarts, flipping it over not recognizing the handwriting to be anyone he knew, he then looked to the wax seal, and alas it was too of something that he never knew. As most seals were, it was in a circular shape, a serpent with diamond markings all up it's back rimed the symbol, but at the heart of it, was a hatching dragon's egg, with two meeting swords clashing for the backdrop.

It surely screamed to be something Slytherinesk, but he still failed to see what Slytherin would be writing to him. He was definitely not a popular one among them.

The owl cocked its head to the side and gave a friendly hoot, as if pressuring him to open the letter before it flew over to Hedwig's empty cage. Harry sighed.

"Sure, why not…" he told himself as he broke the seal and read through the letter. Once…Twice…Three times and his cheeks were a flaming red. The first thought that came to his mind as he looked over to the black bird being; 'Merlin…it's a love letter.'

**End Chapter 1**

_To Be Continued… _

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Nasyki/Dark Cherub: Muahahahhahahahaha! That sucked…Y-Y;;; I'm sorry…nice ending, ne? Little hint for next chapter, the love letter…er…has some interesting parts to it! ((Evil smile)) Oh ya! And I'm really sorry about all my commentary in this chapter, no more after this chapter. I swear…unless it is oh so important. Ah well. Let me tell you this now before I forget, this fic isn't getting any longer until I get some reviews, and this note applies from now until it's done, but I won't say it, so if you want me to continue at all, remember that! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! I SWEAR I WON'T UPDATE! Oh! An' if you want the 'almost-prequel' with more Draco Harry slashy goodness, tell me! I'll get to it! ((Shifty eyes)) Eventually…if you want it any who…but you must review this story if you want more of Love's Letters! So remember that too!**


	2. Meet DB

**Love's Letters**

By: Nasyki/Dark Cherub

Chapter 2 (_Meet DB_)

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_

---Last Time---

The owl cocked its head to the side and gave a friendly hoot, as if pressuring him to open the letter before it flew over to Hedwig's empty cage. Harry sighed.

"Sure, why not…" he told himself as he broke the seal and read through the letter. Once…Twice…Three times and his cheeks were a flaming red. The first thought that came to his mind as he looked over to the black bird being; 'Merlin…it's a love letter.'

**Scene One of Three:**_ The Letter_

* * *

"_My Dearest Harry,_

_Oh, how long is it that I have awaited you? Harry, my one love, you are the center of my very essence. The only true escape of my soul-devouring pain. The pain that is my own loneliness, the times that I have longed expand to as deep a point as my unrelenting love for you. It has been forever that I have lived without you. Forever, lived without you knowing of my mere existence. Forever, lived without expressing myself to you in my unholy love. Many lonely nights I have sat in an empty bed, cold and desperate, completely dejected and as such, found myself longing even more completely for you. Now how my body cries out for a full touch, your intoxicating sent, your strong and determined gaze that pierces my heart like a thousand of Cupid's deadly arrows._

_When I see you all emotions of insecurity, self-loathing, confusion, and every other uncontrollable urge of hate and pain subside; they disappear from me like it were your lips on my skin and I am lost into the blissful oblivion of frivolous fantasies —my body on top of yours as we become one, as we call each other's name in a savoring cry in unison._

_As you read this, now I can feel your breath hitch, your light lips are opened slightly, and a faint blush covers your cheeks in the fluster of someone wishing for such intimacies with you. What I would give to look into your passionate eyes at this unorthodox moment, to run a stray hand through your messy tresses that scream sex, and down the spine of your back. Your tight mussels of living stretching in the movement of your natural sway, to be able to find my hand cupped over your arse and to pull you to me and feel the sensations of me thrusting my hips wantonly into yours._

_I tell you now, I have always lived for you and I support you with all my love and loyalty, the devotion of an angel in an eternal dedication of my life and everything affiliated with it for you. My clouded thoughts wander the endless possibilities between us. My entire world revolves around **you**, Harry. My life is you, nothing without you._

_When I think of you, **my** Harry I think of your sexy jet-black hair, your endless pools of vivacious forest green eyes (eyes that threaten to envelop me), your well toned and slimly curved body, it's all to much to bear and I cum in my hand._

_When I think of you my mind is so full of your luscious lips, your tight arse, of your petal soft skin, your strong arms that could be holding me, saving me from my emotional darkness I scream so loud I wake the cold dead in their graves._

_As I ponder over every aspect of you in my infatuation striven lust, I am lead over the edge to an orgasm so full of fervor you'd be unable to handle the unearthly desperation._

_**My** Harry, holder of my poisoned heart, as I spend everyday of my life devoted to you it is not because you will save the wizard race, I would give every soul on this god forsaken planet if just to hold you, to love you for one second._

_I now let you know there is no one that knows you the way I do, there is _no one_ that feels the way I do for you and even if there were, there would be no consequential experience to them, for we are and have always been destined to be together._

_Harry, after all the time I have spent in your shadow, watching almost like a stalker watches his obsession, I have seen and observed you, savoring what joy I could in just watching you and through this I have come to know you all too well. For example, as you read this letter of my very being, you are in a wonder of my threatening identity. This will cause you in a desperate curiousness' to know the name of myself. Knowing you as I do, it is undoubted that to obtain the form of which to relate to me, you would make such foolish mistakes (as you always do)—distraught in an anxious attempt to discover whom I am. Though I am sorry to say I will not be helping you with that any this evening._

_This is because even in my state of turmoil without you, I'm afraid I do not have strength enough to be downcast by you, in telling you my name. I would be put into an endless spiral of darkness with an empty mind and a broken heart. You see I could never live knowing that the only person I truly care about had rejected me. I know that if I were to do any such a thing that is truly what you would do to me. You are the only thing that gives me meaning in this life. So I shan't tell you tonight, for the sake of my own denial and to be able to be happy for just two seconds longer in my pointless existence of a life. So forgive me for my weakness of being shunned by you. Again, I should know this to be fact knowing you how well I do._

_Though I love you far too much to do a cruel thing like tell you that you will be frenzied to find out who I am, and give you nothing to go on. So as a gift of love, I will tell you this and little else: we have in fact met and spoken (though not spoken nearly as much as I would like, nor as much as you and the two followers you call your best friends; —Hermione Granger, and the Ronald Weasley boy— have), also I can tell you that we have know each other for a number of years (seeing as we are in the same year at Hogwarts)._

_At any rate my purpose today…at the end of this year at Hogwarts, as I was taking my leave I saw something that caused me to write to you today. I saw the way that you looked as you walked through the barrier with your friends, I saw your face with such pain as I would never have liked for you to feel, I watched your emotion bleeding face, and I found myself dieing with the sorrow I didn't know you had._

_Your simple look ended my world. In your pain, I ached for the chance to embrace you, with the murmur of sweet nothings into your ear. It was at that moment I wanted nothing else but to take you right then and there, and to lock you away from the cruelties of the world: the people who had done this to you. But I could do nothing at all for you, and when you hugged the arrogant Weasley from behind, he gave you no response. Then I decided again how much I despised him, how much he took you for granted was **unacceptable**. I knew had you let **me** be the one there, holding you, and loving you that you wouldn't have had to make a movement to feel an embrace of warm arms slipping around you._

_Please, my one, my only, my pain, my happiness, my everything…Please don't look so alone, so hurt and broken. Know that there is always me. Know there is always a 'someone' looking through the window onto your life and know that I am only wishing to be involved in it, but wanting no more than your happiness. My only Harry, I am willing to pay my happiness for yours, I can live in your strife if only you can be blinded by my obstinate happiness for your existence._

_Harry, I have long since accepted the lethal fruit you bare and still I wouldn't hesitate to sink my teeth deeply into you. I decided the moment I said I could love you. I decided when I was forced to endure the pain of trying to make myself _not_ to love you. I decided when I was able to accept myself as a man that just so happened to fall in love with another man, and I accept that I was not such vile a thing to love a man like myself. I decided when I had to accept that though I loved you there was things right enough that I should live even though I hated myself for it. I had to decide when I declared myself homosexual. I decided that I could accept everything about you once I said that I could take the pain it would cause me when you found out who I am, along with the added pain you might endure when you know my name and that I would eventually feel in the long run having caused it to you._

_I decided that nothing is worse than trying not to love you. And again I decided it when I said that I could accept you and still love you after you figure me out for what I really am: 'An animal!' 'A pervert!' 'A man that loves another man!' Or, as I originally saw myself before I decided that there was worse pain in the world, and that at least my love was sometimes a pleasure (And I'm sure you know what pleasure I'm talking about). Through all of my experiences of you, my conflicts within conflicts in myself I have accepted the death and hurt that comes with your name as though it were nothing, so after all I have put myself through for you please let me at least that right to love you. Let me feel you and embrace you from my distance. Let you accept my existence and I will wait until I breathe my last breath for you to call out to me for any reason in the world ever hateful may it be._

_Love forever and always,_

_D.B"_

* * *

Harry swallowed hard as he read over it, 'okay so maybe it wasn't **just** a love letter,' he admitted to himself as he thought over it's content, 'it was more of a stalker, love confession, I-don't-know-what letter.'

Giving a nervous glance to the black owl that was making itself at home in Hedwig's cage two things were running through his mind, one being the obvious; 'who is it that really wrote the letter,' and 'what am I going to do about it.' Though the sooner question had no real starting point, the latter he could work with.

Sighing as the potion he had taken was taking its toll on him, he flopped back down onto his bed his arms sprawled out lazily at his sides. Glaring up at a fading ceiling through half-laden eyes, he allowed his mind to swirl around into an abyss.

'I can ignore it,' he thought perceptibly as he used one foot to slip off the shoes of his other foot.

He began to argue with himself, '**No you can't. Did you even read the letter? If someone really did write it, which there is no doubt someone did, they really meant it.**

'The letter could be made by the Order or the Ministry to try and see if I'm dumb enough to respond. —Or because they are worried about me and want to make sure I don't plan on double-crossing them by switching sides gradually.

'**I didn't realize the Order and the Ministry put together were that smart. But more importantly Dumbledore wouldn't stand for such an invasion of privacy.**

'That doesn't mean that the Ministry wouldn't go behind his back to do something loathly.

'**But it would be a complete betrayal and they would realize if they did that to you and you figured it out you would have incentive to switch sides. That would be considered double-crossing you first. Also would they have used a 'male' as the person writing the letter? They have no reason to believe you are or have ever been gay.**'

Harry paused. That was true. He'd barely showed his interest in girls let alone guys, what reason would the Ministry have to use a male over a female automatically suspecting he was gay? Though now that he had read the letter, he found that he really didn't mind if it was a guy that sent the letter, it was flattering all the same. 'They could do it just to make sure I wouldn't suspect anything…using a guy would make it seem like too many safety measures and make it seem a long stretch to be connected to them at all thus proving that it couldn't possibly be them.

'**The Ministry doesn't have time for such safeties. They are busy doing everything to keep the world from shattering an idea either follows through or ends as a no go.**'

That was also to true. If the Ministry ever did try to write a love letter to him so they could know what he was thinking, they would full well know the chances of him going for it were slim, they would most likely do it half-assed and not go so far to make sure he'd believe it, that'd be to unconvincing. Also if they went as far as to make it a male the chances of response were even lesser. Their best bet would be doing a common believable letter with a picture of a pretty girl so that at least Harry would want to respond at the chance slim chance of it not being fake. 'If not a trap by my own side it could easily be a trap made by Voldemort, there is no doubt he wouldn't try to trick me by something so loathly.

''**No doubt' you say? Must we repeat ourselves? If someone really did write it they had to have meant it, something tells me that little Voldy and company couldn't write a love letter, even if they were in love with someone and if it did, the letter would end up worse than a try from the ministry.**'

Harry snorted, his eyes growing heavier. That would be a sight to see. He yawned as he tried to think up more arguments against the letter, slipping his other shoe off he threw a second thought, 'Crazy stalker?

'**At least a nice lay off rejection to it if it were so.**'

Harry sighed, there weren't many other possibilities. 'Fine. I'll write a response…when I've gotten some sleep.' Finding that a satisfactory way of ending his thoughts Harry took a deep breath and didn't even bother righting him self into the direction one would normally sleep. There, with his feet hanging over the side of the bed he fell asleep, cheeks pale from the effect of the potion as his lips parted themselves ever so slightly, his socked feet lightly brushed against the floor until his breathing evened out into soft pants and his body slowed to a state of near suspended animation. The black bird sat across the room as still as he was. It had stopped: watching him with an insensitive glowing golden gaze.

**Scene Two of Three:**_ Dilemmas_

Six and a half hours later Harry had stirred, moonlight glowing radiantly into his dark room, the natural light allowing him to see just as well as if it were day. He sat in bed without moving, barely cracking open his eyes as he let the cold light flow over him. It was a full moon. He off-handedly wondered of Remus and his well-being. Sighing as the time began to draw him more completely out of his miasma he looked about the room noticing that he still had his glasses on, lucky for him they hadn't broken during his sleeping session.

The bird that had shown up with the letter earlier was still in Hedwig's cage, seeming to be in a peaceful state of sound slumber. Sighing, Harry got to his feet. He still could feel the soft patch of parchment in his hand. Looking pointedly to letter he walked away from his bed to set it atop his dresser. He could write it a response later, now he just had to use the restroom. He had gone at least a day without going to the bathroom, and now he made it the priority.

Walking to the door he gripped the doorknob firmly in his hand and gave it a slight turn; it didn't move more than just a wiggle.

'Great.' He thought worriedly, he hadn't eaten, and he needed to go to the bathroom, what to do…

Taking a tighter grip onto the metal handle, he gave it a hard twist. Yet still, (as generally one would assume under circumstances such as these) _nothing_ happened. 'Well at least my family hasn't completely forgotten me,' bitterly he slammed his body against the door hoping beyond hope it was just stuck. Add his sarcastic response in his head and one had such inspiration.

'**How naive can a person be? Logic: 'When you ram into a door multiple times, surely the millionth time will be the charm'? No. Dolt, it isn't going to open anytime soon just because you keep running into it. What's the use in trying, when you know deep down it'll end in no avail?**'

Biting his lower lip he stopped dead when he heard a stirring from his Aunt and Uncle's room. Stopping himself from doing anything else stupid, (like getting himself beat on again when he had just finished healing himself) he looked around the room frantically. There had to be something, some other way to get out.

He looked to the window and that idea was quickly abhorred; he was in fact on the second story of a building. Looking he saw nothing meaning that he really had nothing he could do. Becoming more distracted he wriggled the door again, this time making sure to turn it one way as much as he could, leaning his shoulder against the door and putting as much pressure as possible onto it. Though he wasn't surprised when nothing happened.

Pulling back he ran his fingers through his hair and began to tug at it harmlessly thinking silently, pacing the length of the room. There had to be a way out. Thinking back to his second year when Fred and George had pick-locked the door, he suddenly wished for a hairpin though that got him nowhere as again he had none.

Glowering he made his way to his bed. He grabbed his pillow and then with all the force he had in him he chucked it defiantly at the door. It made a light 'ploof' then fell to the floor uselessly. With no other responsive motions, sounds or solutions of any kind dwindling Harry sighed in defeat. He was doing a lot of that it seemed.

'Well that had been less than pointless.'

Sitting back on his bed irritability he felt himself being watched. He quickly looked up to see the wide-awake owl forever looking. He shivered under its dead gaze.

"I might as well write your master a letter now, shouldn't I?" He asked the bird, meeting its eyes with fearlessness even though the eyes of the bird could have very well been the eyes of death itself when their intensities were contemplated.

Harry rose to his feet and looked around the room for quill and parchment. Though even that action proved his most pointless yet on this night of the full moon. After several minutes of rummaging he remembered that all his things were still in his trunk. "Damn, I'm an unlucky bastard." Leaning against the wall next to the birdcage, he took off his glasses and rubbed his straining eyes.

'This definitely tops it. I was welcomed home with a good beating, am going to be forced into my room for a good week with one meal a day, **and** I've been fucking locked in before I could even go to the bathroom. Well that sounds like the most wondrous of all vacationing I have heard of, I'm so _glad_ that I'm home.' Even in his head, the depressing thoughts had the sarcasms weighed too high to ignore, which in the end was all the more helpful in dragging him down into the pits of his own inner darkness'.

Looking through the gaps in between his fingers veiled over his eyes he saw that the bird was still watching him in utter calamity. "Damn it, I'm having a horrible fucking night do you mind not staring at me!" he yelled at the bird that showed no reaction to the comment and just continued to stare at him.

When he heard a loud snore from what sounded like his Uncle he clasped his hands over his mouth. As upset as he was he couldn't wake anyone. Sighing unsteadily he slipped his glasses back on and walked back over to the locked door.

Though he knew it all a pointless gesture he grabbed the handle and gave it a little shake. Yet this time, it turned all the way; raising an eyebrow he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked back at the bird and he noticed its gaze was still following him. Swallowing, he rushed to the bathroom in as quiet a manner he could. Mind still dwelling on the self-unlocking door.

After using the restroom, he turned on the sink and washed his hands. Pausing he plugged the sink and allowed the water to continue to fill.

The sound of water hitting water calmed his nerves slightly and made him feel almost tranquil. In his unnerved state he began to try to concentrate more on that soothing feeling, as long as memory served him he'd been so tense for forever. Without thinking he looked deeply into the rippling water and for a moment he could see himself somewhere else a place he could be alone.

His breathing steadied as he continued to look into the surface of the water. He could see in his mind a placid surface of crystal blue water…sitting in a faraway place, leaning against a tree while caressing breezes ruffled his hair and clothing. It was a place where he could be away from everything, where no one knew where he was. He was on the edge of a lake of some kind looking into its deep blue surface and as he sat there unmoving, he could feel the water calling out to him to do something.

Off in the distance he could hear a faint sound of one of the currents of water, possibly of the stream that lead into the lake changing direction, getting deeper perhaps. He imagined a small pile of rocks in the distance whence the water came, and saw a waterfall so small create the pool before him. Pausing he felt a tug at his conscience to lean towards the water and look more deeply to it's bowls.

It was an urge overwriting all other thoughts as he pulled himself closer to the water's surface, away from the comforting solid of the tree against his back. Before he knew it he was kneeled over the water and looking into his own reflection. The water seemed deeper than it should have been so near the shore and as close as he was to it he could still feel that urge to get nearer the water. Leaning in more closely still he could see something just below the surface of the water. The image was vague yet it was so real and close…seeming to get closer. He leaned in more and it immerged from the water suddenly. It was strange…he could almost say that he was looking at—

He reached out and touched the stringy matted mess of wet and brown and felt it cold and solid with more depth than it looked. He gave it a slight push with one hand and it bobbed up and down in the water. Blinking he quickly brought his hand back to the bank, resting it in the dirt by his knee. The thing still bobbed and then rotated seemingly on it's own accord. He saw a pale something showing from underneath the floating thing. It continued to rotate until a pale face was completely visible, it's mouth opened in a eternal scream as sunken eyes looked back to him blind in its unseeing horror.

Harry gasped and pulled back as he found himself in the bathroom again, looking into the filling sink. His breathing had quickened and he found himself in a cold sweat, his body shaking uncontrollably. Lashing out his arm he fumbled to turn off the water. For several minutes he regained himself all the while looking deeply into the settling sink, a full queasiness had gathered within his stomach and it didn't appear to be leaving anytime soon.

His mind was blank with the image burning brightly into his mind.

Shaking his head suddenly he cupped his hands and dipped them into the cool liquid in the sink. Bringing his face down he splashed the water to his face and tried to cleanse the images from his mind. He couldn't make sense of it.

'What was that? I-it seemed so real, but I can't explain it. A place I've never been that I just now created in my mind. A person…dead…I couldn't have come up with such a frightening scene. Not even in my own imagination.' Harry shivered and unplugging the sink he allowed the water to drain while he dried his face and hands on a towel. 'I'm beginning to doubt my sanity.' He thought trying to get his mind to a different train of thought.

'—And what about the door? That was really just as strange an incident. I had been sure the door was locked. I slammed my entire body against it and it still didn't open, so what unlocked it? Could the owl have used magic to do it? Magic…then wouldn't I be getting another letter? When Dobby used Wandless magic to float that pudding and when I used Wandless magic to blow up my Aunt Margie the Ministry of Magic had known immediately and acted as so…so if it had been magic even by an owl, wouldn't that mean they would know about it?' That didn't seem very likely.

'Maybe it was truly unlocked?' He pondered the thought a moment trying to find a more logical cause than unmonitored magic. 'It is possible the door was simply jammed. Maybe it hadn't been jammed at all? Maybe I just made it out to seem like it was locked or stuck. Maybe it's all in my head…the dead person too?' Harry shuddered, 'I fear I may seriously be losing myself.'

Mind-boggling he went down stairs to fetch a quick snack to tide him over until dinner, and to grab some of his things from his trunk. 'I should probably grab a few potions in case my Uncle has another accident as well, and a couple of books, parchment, ink, and quills so I can work on my summer-vacation homework and get to writing that letter.' He shivered at its mention. Indeed the letter had been a rather interesting one.

Going back to the thoughts of the door as he made his way down the stairs being sure to steep over the squeaking one he thought of all he did to the door.

'Maybe, what happened was after all of the pressure I put on it, when I threw the pillow at it, the lock had finally gave, and popped opened? Okay…' Harry admitted. 'Maybe that is a little outlandish, but it's still a possibility.' He tried to convince himself, and he convinced himself he was convinced but really it was less than likely and he knew it. He had spent years in that room and the lock had never just given because he threw a pillow at it.

He didn't bother with the lights, as he knew that it would be too conspicuous and if his Aunt or Uncle got up he wouldn't even have a chance to hide. So with his years of experience in walking the halls of Hogwarts at night without getting caught and in his attempts of getting food late at night, long years since passed here at the Dursley's he managed to find his way about quietly, quickly, and efficiently. Ending up upstairs with his food without difficulties.

Just as he was shutting his door behind him he cursed having forgotten to go to his trunk. He set the food on his bed, the door still ajar slightly so that he could slip out, yet again. Opening his mouth he let out a silent scream, why did everything have to be so complicated? Couldn't it just be some of it that was complicated? Hell even most of it would be better, but all of it? Every goddamned thing he did had to be the hardest, most problematical way of doing it.

Sighing he crept back to the door, turned off his light, and closed it partway. Now that he had already gone down once, had he made a sound loud enough to wake the sleeping hippo and giraffe, if he made another noise and they felt there was something downstairs, he was dead.

Steeping more carefully than one would think necessary; he made it to the cupboard in at least six-times the amount it would have normally taken. He was surprised when the door opened to his turn though, had they actually forgotten to lock it earlier this morning? They probably didn't even know it was unlocked…

Thumbing opened his trunk; the first thing he grabbed was his invisibility cloak. If he were going to be caught tonight, he could at least hide his things. He began piling his things into it books, parchment, and quills before he also added the glass bottles of ink, and his healing potions, making sure to grab the half-used one among other things.

Curling the cloak around the pile he picked up the invisible mass, and closed the cupboard door. He heard a noise that caused his blood to run cold: the sounds of approaching steeps. His eyes widened and he hid the sack of his supplies under the nearest table hiding next to it.

'**Great job genius, he definitely won't be able to see you there… under a table…in plain sight.**'

Harry shivered as he saw the upstairs hall light turn on, then his Uncle walk down the hall towards his room, he felt a stone of fear turning in his stomach as he heard his Uncle growl from his now fully opened door, the pounding of foot steeps, and his emerging Uncle now heading down the stairs.

'**Okay, here's a brilliant idea, get the hell out from under the table and hide in the cupboard.**'

Harry scurried out from under the table and latched onto the doorknob just as his Uncle came out from behind the corner.

"Boy," his breath was hot and made Harry's body go rigid. "How did you get out of your room?" His demand was cold, though the temperature of his rage was rising.

'Now what?' he asked his empty book of ideas.

He thought to himself dryly, '**You can act like you were sleepwalking, dolt.**'

Harry put on as blank a face as he could, and turned stiffly to face his Uncle.

"Well?" he continued.

Walking towards Vernon like he hadn't heard he was just passing him Harry felt a hand snake its way into his hair. With a hard tug from his Uncle he flew back and felt the air rush past him, it slipped over him without conscious thought like his mind, and just like his mind it swirled around him in a chaotic confusion. It seemed an eternity before he found his head slamming into the wall with the force of an ogre. Within seconds his vision fogged and it felt like his head had just had an eighty-pound brick fall on him with its crushing weight. He had yet to find himself internally but he could just register the feel of a hot thick liquid trickle its way down his cheek from the side of his face. But he didn't need a proper grasp on reality to be able to understand that it was his blood.

Wincing in and out he heard himself think, 'well that didn't work.' Though he wasn't able to sort why he thought it exactly. Within a second he could see his way though the heavy haze in his brain and the fear took over his confusion. 'What can I do?' he begged himself.

That's when he noticed that there was already a train of thought speaking helpfully to him, '**Yes it did work, just act like that caused me to wake up, _seriously_ say something like, 'w-where am I. W-what happened?'**'

Harry somehow thought that lying like this just to get out of this situation was very cunning; somewhere he recognized that it was also a very Slytherin thing to do but that wasn't on an aware level if it was at all.

Switching his wince into wide-eyed bafflement, Harry repeated his premeditated script,

"W-what happened? Where am I?" he choked on the words, weather it was from the fear of being caught or simply from the fear of lying he hoped his Uncle wouldn't look to much into his tone and pay more attention to his words. He began to wriggle about in an attempted to squeeze out of his Uncle's firm grip and help cover his mistaking voice.

"Don't play stupid boy. How did you get out of your room? I locked it." He wasn't going to buy into that story even if it were true.

"M-my room? I-I don't know." Harry repeated, "Where am I? What happened?"

His Uncle slammed his head into the wall again but this time it almost seemed as though his world was vibrating like an earthquake. The feeling that followed pulsated throughout him was someone dissecting his brain.

"I said, don't play stupid boy, how. _Now_." The voice that seemed too gaunt now rolled out as though it were the last breath taken of a sadistic murder when his pray had finally gone down. It left little room for argument, though there was no way Harry was going to tell the truth in this situation when he had already flat out lied to the man.

Harry didn't like the voice one bit so he continued to act. "I don't know what you're talking about Uncle Vernon, I swear. But please stop it, you're hurting me." Okay, that last comment was milking the situation, his Uncle would probably see right through it.

But his Uncle didn't, he just smiled his sadist smile; it was the most frightening look Harry had ever seen on the man.

"Oh _so_ sorry Harry," his Uncle said mock-tone. "Maybe all these years I haven't been making myself clear. Here let me help, I can spell it out simply for you:

"I don't give a damn if I'm hurting you. I have given you all the chances to be a good little boy like Dudley over the years and you have been a spoiled brat about all of them. When we took you into our house we thought that we could beat the m-magic," Harry was shocked to hear that word but he understood that Vernon was a _very_ angry man right now, and he was trying to prove that he either wasn't threatened by the magical world or didn't care as long as he could see Harry in the most pain of his life. "—out of you, but when that didn't work I swore I would do everything in my power to make your life hell. Your insane little friends kept you safe for a while, but there is no way they can watch you all the time. The other day I wasn't in a clear state of mind when I beat you. When I first started hitting you I though I would die but I didn't care. You had to pay. When I finished I was ready to accept whatever was coming my way. But nothing ever happened, _Harry_. No one ever came. That's when I realized that they couldn't be here or watching you every second of the day, you monsters aren't even **that** powerful.

"But my point is **Harry** no one came to save you the other day and I highly doubt they'll come now. You ran my family in fear for _years_ you little runt and its time for you to get what was long since due. Harry, I hate you, you're a nasty little rat, and I thought over the years you've learned and understood that is what I saw you as. But it seems somewhere along the way I didn't make that clear enough for you, and now…now you are going to pay dearly. I'll give you something that you can remember so that you won't disobey me again."

**---Rape---**

Harry blinked, 'that wasn't at all the response I expected. What does he—' Harry never got to continue his thoughts though, the next thing he knew his Uncle Vernon's wet and angry lips were assaulting his own, fiery eyes locking on stunned green.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, his mind went to mush and he couldn't think, his body froze and he began to feel the most repulsive sensation as his Uncle forced his tongue into his mouth and nearly down his throat. All he could do was gag and struggle to breathe before the plump man continued his assault with vigor. Harry squeezed his eyes shut but he could still feel his Uncle's gaze cutting into him though his laded lids.

Calloused fingers, plump and pink digits that Harry had seen and spent almost every day of his child-hood fearing and dreading now groped at his skin and clothes. Harry could feel the tear of the thinned fabric against his skin, he felt the way it pulled painfully on the sensitive surface, the way it rubbed harshly, the very feel of his irritated epidermis becoming enflamed was all too evident to his overloading senses. With each passing movement every moment, every breath, every touch was being burned into his head, in half time, dragging on painfully slow. The excruciating hours that it took Harry to find his body barren of his armor he found his mind giving a little with each touch, more than dreading the next. If there were a pause when nothing was coming, he'd anticipate when the next would by rerunning all of the previous motions in his head. His cloths tattered ribbons at his feet, the cold air against his heated skin, the hands against him…

Harry, that had just been lost to the nothingness of his oncoming insanity found himself and what was happening. His head exploded for pleas of help and prayers for a savior. Harry bit back a cry as his Uncle began to caress his chest brutally and kiss Harry with his teeth gnawing on his lips like they were meat; it seemed more like he was ripping them apart to eat than to kiss him at all.

Swallowing a mouth-full of his own blood Harry balled his hands into fist and began to beat at the fat that was his uncle's chest. It was as though his uncle had been expecting this because amid his second hit his hands were scraped into one of his Uncle's hands by the wrist and slammed above his head. Harry blinked trying to figure out what had just happened when Harry saw something come flying towards his face. He closed his eyes that he had opened to aim and flinched right before the bludger hit him in the nose. The loud sound of glasses cracking filled his ears as his nose made a splintering sound in unison. The pain shocking him as though he hadn't been expecting it, Harry's body convulsed a shudder and he felt something sharp enter his left eye. He screamed as his crumbling glasses fell to the flood throwing his head back he managed to increase his pain with the wall hitting him just as hard as when his uncle had slammed him into it.

There was a painful pause before his uncle moved close to his ear whispering, "If you try and fight back, _I'll kill you_."

Harry's coherent thoughts blurred into a serge of hatred more powerful than the pains his Uncle had caused him in the past. But the new fear of the statement rivaled that of his hatred for the man, and a new hatred for him self as he couldn't find the will to fight the man. He didn't want to die!

The fat man went back to his work but Harry couldn't see it, he couldn't open his eyes without emitting a pain that he had never felt before from his left eye. All he could rely on was the feelings. —Iron hard fingers that gripped him, nails that dug into him, teeth that sunk into his skin— It began where his uncle left the gift of a death threat, at his neck. Kisses bit their way into his neck and drug in a downward motion leaving large rifts of skin as hands where now scraping short nails into his inner thighs. More painful cries came from him as Vernon began to kiss his chest, when he found his way to one of Harry's nipples Harry preceded to let out an eardrum-bursting wail. Vernon sunk his teeth even deeper into the now purple nipple and Harry was convinced that Vernon had bitten it off when he was done and had moved on.

A perverted hand now made its way to Harry's limp prick as his nails scraped down the shaft and dug into the slit at the head, at this Harry lost his voice and all he could do was cry silently, his tears making their way down his face and stinging his mutilated lips.

His Uncle now saw that Harry couldn't bring himself to fight back and let loose his hand that had once been occupied with holding Harry's arms above his head. Instead he brought it down with his other, and reached behind Harry's bleeding cock where his hands squeezed his balls with all his might.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and balled his fits to a point they bled. The added combination of teeth on his chest and merciless hands on his prick and balls was too much and he wanted to die. The thing that surprised him like no other was that fact that his body was responding to the abuse and even though it was so painful both physically and mentally his body in some way he could not understand found the situation arousing.

Harry found his cock hardening in his uncle's hand and instead of opening his moth for an intended scream he found a moan escape him. At that all motion stopped in his uncle though the pressure on his dick and balls never broke. A shaky breath ran over his ear and he shivered, still crying silently.

"What's this?" He asked the rhetorical question in a husky voice high on pleasure. "You enjoying this you little pervert? Don't you understand that I'm raping you? So you're a little masochistic whore? I should have known a bastard child like you would enjoy being raped by his uncle." He paused and pulled away to unbuckle his pants. Harry shivered as he found the hands leave him but it was only for a second. The next, "Let's see how much a slut like you will like of this." Then it was his lips to Harry's neck and with the intent of a snake, he snapped his jaw down with each contact that his lips made to the skin.

The man's pants and boxers fell to his ankles and he used his newfound grip to tightly latch themselves onto Harry's shoulders, with all the strength the man had Vernon slammed Harry's now seemingly frail body against the wall. His Uncle held him there with one arm and leading the other across the fat under his nightshirt, and grabbed himself, in only a moment of self-preparation he firmly stoked the length of his prick a few times before leading his hand back to Harry's body.

With both hands now holding a bruising grip around his shoulders he was torn from the wall and flipped over, Harry moaned at the maltreatment. In no time at all, where his back had once been, his bear chest was now. Harry winced again as his shredded bite marks were rubbed into the wood, he was sure his aunt would not be happy when she found the blood in the morning. Enduring the pain he could feel the hot, pulse of his over weight Uncle pressing his dick to his virgin entrance. The hot, wet sex was then removed and the horror had only time to slightly subside before he felt the large organ pound into him forcing a scream to evade his now marred lips.

The feeling, Harry had never expected, even after battles with Voldemort he had never encountered a pain so deep inside him, it was like his body was being cut opened from within. In the quickest, most raged pattern his Uncle could manage, he was slamming back into Harry's body pushing against his innermost part, drowning Harry in the deepest pains of pleasure, a pleasure that made him want to purge.

Thrusting into him, Harry bit his lip to withhold a screaming moan each time his Uncle pulled out of him and then pushing back in again. It felt like the most rugged sandpaper there was, was now rubbing inside of him tearing off his skin and pulling the blood from him and using it as a lubricant to get deeper inside his pained bowels. But even through all the pain, Harry found it all feeling so good; he couldn't help the moan that came from his lips.

At this his uncle began to laugh wantonly.

Harry felt his voice return and as his Uncle came inside of him cum mixing with his blood. He felt the semen sting his sliced mussels and he screamed as loud as he could, until his voice went horse and blood was running down it, exactly like the blood that was running through and out of his passage. After the intense pain Harry felt him self hit his orgasm as cum burst from him and sprayed the bloodied wall.

His uncle continued to laugh; laughing that matched the sadist smile he had as he slammed in, and out of Harry's crying body, a smile that pierced him like the pennies that tore through his body.

**---End Rape---**

His Uncle Vernon gripped his bare neck and took a second to pound Harry's head into the wall a few times until he let his grip drop. He allowed Harry to fall to a heap on the floor and picking up his tent-like pajama pants, he gave one final laugh.

"Boy, I hope you understand not to cross me again. Trying to get your stuff out of the cupboard late into the night as we sleep were you? Well I don't know how you got out of your room boy, but believe me, it won't happen again. Tomorrow I'll have more locks installed. And now its three weeks you'll be in there no breakfast or lunch. One meal a day boy, dinner's it."

Harry groaned and nodded, bloody and cold he felt drying tears run down his face, 'when did that happen?' he wondered as he felt his Uncle grab his hair, and turn to drag him upstairs.

Making a blind grab for the invisible package, the voice in his head tisked. '**You do know you could have covered yourself with the invisibility cloak too. It's definitely big enough. I mean really, have you any sense?**'

Feeling his stupidity add onto the pain of rape, his depression slide back to how he was when he was getting off the train. He'd been raped, he was alone, and no one cared. That's when he remembered the BD person and the love note, and as he was holding tightly to the invisible bag, he felt the lightest sliver of happiness as the black of unconsciousness engulfed him for the second time in barely two days.

**Scene Three Of Three:** _Letter Writings, and Understanding_

It wasn't long before Harry again woke, but as soon as his perception stirred he very much regretted doing so. His auspicious life was something that the 'boy-who-lived' had neglected to give much praise, yet now he was in so much gratitude of his naturally lucky nature: it had been such a short amount of time since he had taken the healing potion that it seemed to still be in his system, and due to it, much of the worse damage had been healed on a smaller scale.

Yet that didn't change the fact he woke with a pounding, and prodding at his head, one he could vaguely remember from not that long ago when he'd first arrived home: after his first beating; it was an all too familiar feeling yet it felt strangely enraging and he could feel the very stiffness to his joints (for sleeping wherever it was he'd been doing so, no doubt that it was also the added effect of the healing process).

There was a dieing pain convulsing in his body, he tried to rub the soreness out of his tired joints yet all to no avail. Thus thereafter leaving him the none to benevolent choice of giving up and allowing the soreness that bleed from his very bones to take its course. Sitting up in a hunched position his eyes still shut, he felt the cold of the sounding room encasing him in the mind's wanderings. It took a moment to realize the extra draft to the room, and even when he did there was little he could do in his weakened state.

"Mm…" Harry's groan cracked and he coughed. It was still late into the night, or now probably early into the morning and the house seemed deadly quiet, maybe in silent remorse for him from his Uncles activities of not that long ago.

He sighed in pain, and longing for a different life to which he didn't have to constantly wake up finding himself in a hurt or nearly dead state. But such a simple thing as a deepened breath took control of his body in the way a ghost takes over a body; it possessed him and caused his lungs numbing pain. Not only was it the suffocating sensation of being chocked or gagged of his air it was also the added sense of someone pounding down on his chest, with a steel-towed boot knocking the very wind out of him a jagged sting of pain with sharp and potent nature. A feeling intoxicating enough to cause him to double over and go into another coughing fit just from a breath too deep into his lungs.

"Bad-idea…" he half chocked half wheezed out before allowing his tired body to fall back down into a laying position, though 'fall' a bit of a stretch, he lowered himself so slowly to the floor with such caution it couldn't be said he fell backward as one does. It was probably in his best interest not to move about so much just yet. Harry squeezed his closed eyes shut and began taking slow, deep breaths. It was strange his left eye still hurt but the pain had dulled enough so that it was sore. The rest of his body was the same way. When next he opened his eyes, his breathing was steady and the pain was at the bear minimal. But he was surprised that his vision was slightly off. He shrugged at the blurriness it was probably just the fact that he wasn't wearing glasses…but something else seemed off, he just couldn't figure out what it was.

He turned his head and looked at the owl, its eyes were on him and it was just staring, always looking at him with an intense gaze, Harry wondered nonchalantly how it could look at him so, as though it could see into his thoughts and very soul. It bobbed its head and gave an almost friendly 'who' as though to tell him it was all right, but it kept constant eye contact while doing so, not blinking just looking. The simple gesture of an animal, or any living creature doing something directly to him was comforting in the least, it proved to him that he was not nothing, and that he was in fact real and there. Though the apprehensive feeling of being watched was still there, the fact that his existence had been supported managed to calm most of his nerves. Harry closed his eyes and felt around him for his package, he knew that it had to be somewhere about him, his instincts told him that it should be just at his fingertips. Not a second passed before he felt his bony fingers slip over an almost watery surface. Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding ever so slightly (sure to make it not enough to actually hurt himself this time.)

Reopening his eyes, he felt rather than saw the birds' solar orbs following his movements; Harry pulled the bag into his lap, and sat up slowly. He wasn't about to get himself hurt over some piety thing like getting up or breathing: again. Getting onto his unsteady feet, he took a moment to catch his breath before once again continuing to make his way to his bed. First dropping his things on it before actually lowering himself onto the soft calming surface. He wasn't surprised when he didn't see the food there, his uncle had probably took it back into the kitchen after he drug Harry to his room. He sat with his legs thrown over the side of the bed dragging against the floor as he thought.

Through his mind the thoughts of his Uncle ran ramped, the feel of his lips, the violating–Harry's shoulders began to tremble and a whimper split through his parted lips. He raised his hand to cover his eyes when the next thing he felt was a warm liquid drop onto his bare leg.

Out of all the things his Uncle could have done.

Harry pulled his legs onto the bed and then under the thin covers, all the while silent tears flowed down his cheeks. He had nobody. He was alone, his friends had abandoned him, and his friend's families and some of his not-so-close friends had died. His Uncle had— Harry was alone, and all he wanted was to die. Maybe then he could have a moment's peace.

Harry felt himself laugh at the though of death.

Every man wished to escape death's wrath, and here he was having lived through it time and time again, wanting nothing else but to embrace it. There was nothing for him anymore, or quite possibly no one. The entire wizard race needed him to save them, yet no one actually needed him: Harry. Cold tears trickled down his nose. He was a person stuck in the body of a savior.

Harry Potter was an idol; there was not a wizard alive that didn't know his name. Harry Potter was miniscule and meaningless; not a muggle in the world cared if he lived or died. Harry Potter had all the wizards in the world want him for one purpose or another; he had everyone. Harry Potter had been abandoned; everyone who he had actually cared for had left him: Harry James Potter was alone.

His throat was becoming tight and pained by the strain of holding back his sobs. How is it that someone of the importance of an entire world could be as invisible as somebody that wasn't there? Harry opened his eyes and rolled over so that he was facing the door, then something caught his eye. The bird was still in Hedwig's cage, and it seemed to have been looking at him the entire time. He looked into the golden eyes that seemed to enchant him instantly. His eyes grew wide then slid closed, numbness coursed throughout his body and a foreign thought came into his head almost like a voice.

Harry opened his eyes a second later and gasped. A sudden chill ran down his body, and he felt like he was being submerged into a tank of artic water. His mind was clear, but he still felt alone, and depressed. Blinking Harry shot a look back to the bird. Expecting to see piercing eyes Harry was surprised to see the bird…sleeping soundly?

Harry shook his head. 'Now that can't be right. The bird had just—?' He bit the inside of his cheek and thought for a second. 'Hadn't it?' Harry paused. 'Okay that was really weird, I must be going insane or maybe the potion has a side effect?' Harry suggested for his own self-comfort.

Sighing he tried not to think into it. Some questions were better left unanswered, especially questions concerning sanity. Though anything was better than his thoughts of his Uncle and his—

Harry's throat began to tense. It was pathetic that he had allowed that to happen to him. But what else could he have done? Harry took a deep breath. Everything was so confusing, his mind was so jumbled and he couldn't think of a reasonable way to sort out the situation. What he really wanted was for someone to tell him what he did wrong. What he should have done better.

Guidance was what he needed, but anyone who would have ever been able to do such a thing was gone now, dead because of him. Not even his friends were there to help him. Sure they were alive but they were just as dead as he was for sure. Everyone was busy with his or her own thing and worrying about themselves, really he had no place to turn.

Harry covered his face with his hand trying to think of an outlet for his controlling emotions. What he needed was someone to talk to at the vary least. Not even guidance, just someone to listen to his pain. But his real dilemma was that he didn't have anyone, he couldn't think of anyone who would want to think about these things or want to understand what he was going through.

No one cared for him at them moment enough to listen to his pestering thoughts.

'That's right,' Harry thought as he opened his blank unseeing eyes. "I'm still alone." His voice trembled and surprised even him. Maybe if I talk to the silence it'll make it all disappear. He paused and considered it, but he thought of his unanswered questions and the empty of what that would get him and he knew that his wavering existence would surly fade into the nothingness if he embraced it.

Harry sighed in defeat. He could still give up. Maybe commit suicide and escape the nothingness before it really got to him. He laughed.

Hard.

"How wonderful! Lord Voldemort couldn't get to Harry Potter before Harry Potter got to himself," he continued to laugh without thinking it was funny in the slightest. "Oh the public would eat that one up."

He could feel his throat straining and against his will he let out a pained whine. 'There is _no one_ for me,' Harry rolled over and felt the prick of a quill and he remembered why he had gone down stairs.

* * *

—_There is _no one_ that feels the way I do for you_—

* * *

Harry stopped suddenly. 'The letter?'

* * *

—_Let you accept my existence_—

* * *

'I completely forgot about it. I can't talk to my friends about this, but if there were someone else to talk to…'

* * *

—_and I will wait until I breathe my last breath for you to call out to me_—

* * *

'I can send a response and just talk to him like a pen pal so that I might not feel so alone—'

* * *

—_for any reason in the world ever hateful may it be_—

* * *

'—and also so that I can try to get over this thing with my Uncle. Maybe if I talk to him…I can be a little bit more like I used to be…' Harry paused and though of going back to his friends and acting as they used to together…if he could do that…he could surly find the strength to make himself more like how everyone wanted him to be…

'He says he knows all about me…maybe he can teach me how to be me…'

Harry felt a ghost of a smile as he tried to stop the tears from falling. He wanted someone to talk to. He wanted to know he was truly alive. He didn't want to fade completely…he just wanted to be picked out of the crowed as someone that needed someone's help. —Harry rubbed at his blood-shot eyes. — This was a chance. A chance out of one in a million and he wanted to take it and perhaps be saved from himself. —Harry sat up again turning his attention to his pouch of supplies opening it. — He would write a letter and let himself have this chance of becoming whole again to regain whatever it was that he'd lost over his 6th year of solitude. —Taking a bottle of ink, a quill and parchment his mind began to race. — What on earth was he going to say to a person that he didn't know exactly, that had just professed his love to him? —Harry set the rest of the makeshift bag aside before he opened his bottle of ink and he whipped away the last of his tears. — He would have to write something. He only hoped that it'd be good enough. —Taking his quill he dipped the tip into the bottle that would soon become the life of his paper and the foundation of his relationship with the invisible other he began to write,

(Important Authors Note /**IAN**: From this point on remember that D.B is _Italic_, and Harry is **_Bold Italic_**. –And yes I know right under this D.B is spelled wrong as Bd, it's intentional for something.)

* * *

**Dear Bd,**

* * *

Harry watched the ink slide from the tip of the quill in one fluid motion and stopped…this was going to be a bit harder than he wanted it to be.

It was just that, "Hi Mr. Stalker-Man, I'm feeling a bit suicidal so I thought I'd write you a response—" and "I was just reading your letter when I got raped by my Uncle who is planning on starving me for a week or so and I thought what the heck, since I'm locked in my room why not write to an insane person that just might be related to the guy who is trying to kill me, as some sort of psycho trap. Hey how's the whether where you are? Killed any babies lately?" didn't seem so appropriate when he wanted to manipulate the situation so that he wasn't completely alone again. Setting the quill on the paper he rubbed his eyes breathing deeply and trying to think of the best way he could start off this letter.

'This letter isn't just for him. It's for me too…' Harry began to think, trying to get an idea in his head that would benefit them both. 'If he was telling the true in his letter, and he cares for me as much as he…implies then he should just be happy to get a response. Even so, I shouldn't care what he thinks of me because saying he likes me means he doesn't mind the way I am…' Harry was beginning to confuse himself with this 'he thinks' and 'I should's but he got the most of it. 'So in my response I should be able to write what I want and be blunt about how it is without having to worry about what he wants in it. As long as he gets a letter he's happy. As long as I get to express myself to someone and have them listen and care I'm happy.'

For the most part Harry had sorted it out in his head, but if he didn't have a headache he might have been able to make more sense of it. Deciding to just write what he wanted he picked the pen back up and watched as the quill scratched across the parchment.

* * *

_**I must say that your letter surprised me…I would say **flattered**, but some parts were…more than I needed to know. Um, try to excuse me if I say that I'm a little uncomfortable writing to you it's just hard to write to someone that you apparently know but you don't know at the same time. Also I hope you know that at first I was doubtful of the origin of your letter. I know everyone around me is worrying about me, but I'm sure they wouldn't have gone as far as you did with the letter to see how I was feeling. I'm sure they would know I wouldn't respond to a letter that I didn't know were it came from. Or at least I know they hope I wouldn't. But **you** should understand the real reason I was doubtful of the letter. With all of the people out there trying to kill me…I'm sure you can understand why. I always did think there were no perks to being the-boy-that-lived. Funny now that I really think of that name, I have some strange urge to change it to the-boy-that-should-have-died. Haha. I'm sure Voldemort has used that one.**_

_**Anyway its not that I'm not doubtful, actually quite the opposite I'm still doubtful about it to a point that I know I shouldn't respond, but I don't care anymore. If you are someone after my life, you're in luck because I'm putting up no guard against you now. My first hesitations were my last. I fear for my sanity now, and after a persuasive experience with my Uncle I can't handle being this way now. I am alone and lonely. I feel like no one cares about me anymore and that I would be better off dead. I have no one, and I'm in pain. That is the full-out truth.**_

_**It is strange, but I am somehow having trouble writing this, though when I consider that I have a complete understanding that someone that I know but is unknown is going to be reading this it makes a little sense. But anyway, I guess what I am trying to say…or rather **ask**…with my talk of being alone is…would you talk to me?**_

_**(Smile) I'm having a bit of fun with the '…'s. It makes me feel like I'm really talking to you just pausing. You know if I did enough of them I'd really be making you wait.**_

—_**I know it is a strange request of me, and I know that it makes me sound pathetic. I'm sure it does, and I probably shouldn't doubt it, I must be pathetic. But I'm so depressed. Arg! I can't even have words to describe how I feel about this.**_

_**It's like…I don't even exist anymore. Like I can't go on unless someone acknowledges me and the fact that I'm not only unhappy but also that I'm —I don't know hurt, alone, without life. Maybe that is the best way to describe it. I feel like I am dead and no longer living, yet I can still see everything that is going on around what would be me. And what is making me feel this dead is the people that used to make my life good. I feel almost like they were the one's that killed me, by making me so unimportant and inconsequential. I feel like they are the ones that deemed me so, and after awhile it was so and even I couldn't deny it.**_

_**It is all so strange, these things that I am saying have never crossed my mind, but they feel so true and make sense. And then this thing with my Uncle…. I thought that even without those people that kept me going I could still do anything just as well. Like I could do anything by myself. I guess the thing was that I didn't need help. But when I was in real trouble I didn't do anything myself. I just let it happen. And I know I shouldn't have let it happen but I didn't know what to do and I didn't think I could do anything. Now I know that there had to have been something that I could have done, I know anything…. If I had done ANYTHING about it the outcome would have been different. But I didn't I just let it happen and now I'm confused and more alone than I was before because I thought I would still always have me, but even I failed me. I walked out on myself when I didn't do anything and now I am oh so alone and looking for something to make me feel whole.**_

_**I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to do anything to get all that have left me to come back and comfort me but they all left and ultimately I am all alone. I know my request is selfish for it is more for my own gain than anything else, but I thought that it isn't a complicated request. I just need someone to listen to me and tell me…something. Anything! It doesn't need to be that everything is going to be all right because I've known for a long time that it won't be all right. (I get enough of those lies from Hermione even if she is just trying to help.) But I need someone to tell me that I am here and they understand that I am, and how I feel. I want truth because I am lost in a cloud of confusion that really has no escape. Please just listen to me and tell me the truth and when I figure out where I ended up that got me so lost into this place alone I will give you whatever you want that I can truly give.**_

_**I want company because I am alone.**_

_**I have tasted loneliness and I have tasted togetherness, and while loneliness leaves me starving the togetherness fills me and makes me whole. I have only had togetherness for a couple years and now that it is gone I am hungrier than I was even before I tasted it.**_

_**I know I asked you a favor and then without getting an answer acted as though the answer was yes by talking of what I would have if you had said yes…but I'm hoping the answer is yes so that is why I would go so far and talk. Either way I hope that we can talk. I have spoken enough as it is…and I hope that you could get back to me soon.**_

* * *

—Harry sighed as he played with the back of his feather. — He couldn't think of anything more to add to the letter…anything at all.

Figuring that shorter was better, especially considering it was longer than he had intended in the first place. The best thing to do was sign and send it. Agreeing that would be best he dipped the quill into the ink for what he hoped would be the last time of the night before its tip returned to the parchment.

* * *

_**Harry Potter**_

_**P.S. Oh and I hope you know that my mail is being checked. The seal was not broken, but I am sure there are spells to get around that. If you write a response, do be careful. If you imply that I have already spoken to you or that we just met, I may get in trouble and your message may not get to me. I personally can't think of anyway to get around it, but I also don't have a clue how to make it so that they wouldn't notice if a letter passed through. My first idea would be an invisibility cloak over your owl…maybe we could use mine so they can't track you down? Unfortunately right now I don't know where Hedwig is…my cousin got rid of her. But I know she is smart and should be back soon, but having them see Hedwig go back and forth might be more suspicious and they could always just follow her. I am positive that even with an invisibility cloak some wizards can see through them…well I know of one…but he never said…so I can only be almost positive. Then the only other thing I could think of would be some sort of enchanted parchment. But the one I am thinking of you have to hold your wand up to it and say a little sentence to reveal it, and I'm not sure if that map's ink is enchanted or if it is the parchment, and even if I did I don't know how to enchant more and most certainly I wouldn't be able to because it's summer break and I can't do spells even if I wanted to. That's just something to consider.**_

* * *

Harry glanced over the paper.

Well the paper was definitely longer than he'd intended. What was supposed to be his signature had turned out being another long note that he should have made in the main body of it. It figures that he would find something else to say after he'd already signed the paper.

As he folded the paper in half he found himself to be a lot less emotional than he'd been before hand.

That was a good sign.

Harry folded it in half again and noted he seemed to be feeling a whole lot better as well. His headache was gone and the soreness of his body had gone to just a couple of sore spots here and there.

That was an even better sign.

He thought he was doing so much better in fact, he was sure that he could get up without gagging on the pain. Things were really beginning to look up for him.

Putting the finished letter in one hand he used his free hand to grab the covers and pull them back. As he did so he found that he still needed to put some more clothing on. After his Uncle had ripped his up…

Harry shivered, from the air…or from the memory he didn't think he should know. He slipped off the bed and felt the carpet under his bare feet. Walking over to Hedwig's occupied cage with the he looked at the raven colored sleeping owl he took a tie that was on his bed, he wondered offhandedly who exactly his admirer was and if he'd get a response. Looking at the bird made him shudder, even with its eyes closed he felt like the bird was watching. He hastily brushed away the thought as he reached into the cage and fumbled with tying the letter around the bird's ankle. By the time he'd finished doing so the bird was already awake and seemed to be almost enjoying Harry's difficulties. Harry mumbled when he'd finished,

"Damn bird," as though it were the bird's fault, but really he was more embarrassed with himself that he'd had such a hard time with it. Though Harry did smile as the bird came out of the cage and landed on his shoulder. He couldn't deny the fact he loved all owls and this one was defiantly pretty. Turning his head to the owl he reached out his opposite arm and gave it a soft stroke.

"Such a pretty bird. You know I think I'm jealous of your master," Harry commented lightly as he walked over to his closed window. As pretty as the bird was it still gave him the feeling of being watched constantly and he couldn't imagine owning a bird that was always deducing you and seemed to methodically think you out and sum you up.

Harry turned to face the window; with both hands he unlatched it and threw the sides opened. A chilly breeze gushed through the now opened window and over his bare body. Turning back to the golden-orbed owl he held out his hand and allowed it to move from his shoulder to his hand. Once it was settled Harry moved his arm around so that his temporary companion was face-to-face with him.

"Now be a good boy and tell your master I say hi and give him this message, okay?" Harry instructed in a low voice.

The owl hooted in response and Harry moved so that the bird had room to fly out of the window. It spread it's powerful wings and without a sound it had lifted off of his arm and was flying away leaving no trace that it had ever come. He watched as the bird disappeared into the distance, and his eyes continued to stare out training his them to watch the point where the bird had gone, and he hoped would soon be coming.

He watched the sky a little longer and saw the lighting of the coming sun break the darkness of the old night, 'the eternal alarm clock for day.' Harry thought simply as another cold breeze washed over him. He sighed and reached out the window, closing it before firmly latching it in place. He walked over to his dresser feeling alone and empty.

'Maybe having a bird that constantly watches you isn't such a bad thing. When you feel it's piercing eyes on you…you know even in the darkness you're not alone.'

Harry stopped at his dresser and suddenly felt agitated. His sureness had left him again, and he hopped that the bird would be back soon respond to his unanswered questions. Until it did…he had a bad feeling his only worries weren't going to just be the ones of the paper that had left with his strange comfort.

**End Chapter 2**

_To Be Continued…_

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